This Is Your Life
by ShiguraSohmaTheYearOfTheDog
Summary: The bittersweet memories. Only now, they mean so much to him. Only now that he's gone. Arthur and Alfred-coping with death
1. The First Night

Hello, everyone. Yeah, I know, some of you probably think I died or something. Nah, I'm just in high school. That should explain enough. Anyway, here you go! My first posted Hetalia fanfic. I have like, three others on my comp but they're not done/they suck.

This is based off of the song This Is Your Life by Switchfoot, and heavily inspired by Ryukansen's Beyond Our Sight! Read and review, please! Thanks!

(Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya, not me. If it belong to me, there would be A LOT more Germany in it XD)

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Arthur Kirkland rolled onto his side for the fifth time that night. He suddenly felt the wetness of recent tears on his pillow, and he rolled away from the moist spot. The usually edgy and cold man was now a heap of turbulent emotions, waiting to fall and break again, just as he had many times already that day. He couldn't sleep, even with the softest of pillows and quietest of dwellings. Every time his skin made contact with anything else, it'd sear hot and uncomfortable, causing Arthur to flinch from the other. The house was painfully silent, its empty echoes made Arthur's ears ring.

As Arthur's eyes decided it was time to rest, his mind was still racing, running circles around a certain person, but always hesitant to stop and approach him. Arthur's eyes reopened, just as they had many times before, and wandered around the room. His gaze fell on the lamp, the digital clock, the foot of his bed. Finally, his eyes fixed themselves on a small, poorly-crafted ceramic figure of himself. Suddenly, a memory filled Arthur's thoughts, and time seemed to slow.

"Alfred! Open the door, you idiot!" Arthur said with a strong British accent.

Quick-paced steps could be heard approaching the door, and strong oak swung open to reveal a honey blond and blue-eyed American.

"Heh, sorry. Did you know your accent gets thicker when you're angry? It's funny!" Alfred said. He grabbed Arthur's hand and led him to the living room, despite Arthur already knowing where it was. He took a seat on the armchair across from the loveseat, which Alfred sat on.

"You told me that about a hundred times already," Arthur replied. The two stared blankly at each other for a while until Alfred abruptly got up.

Alfred said while walking into the kitchen, "Uh, I'll go put the kettle on. You want Chamomile?" He threw the apron around his neck and tied it in the back. It was completely unnecessary, but it reminded Alfred of the times when Arthur used to cook for him, a long time ago.

Arthur sat calmly in the armchair, sitting back and putting his boots up on the coffee table in front of him. "Actually, Earl Grey would be nice right now," he reported loudly into the neighboring room.

Slouched and comfortable in the armchair, Arthur looked around. Alfred had added to his already large comic book collection, which he proudly displayed on an entire wall of his living room. Arthur never did understand what the American found so interesting about colorful men in spandex with strange abilities that allowed them to save people. Arthur laughed quietly, realizing he probably just described what Alfred saw as his self-image.

"Ain't it grand?" Alfred said loudly as he re-entered the room and flopped back down on the loveseat, propping his feet up on one arm and resting his head on the other. "I just got Daredevil #6 and Superman #75," he said in awe.

Arthur, on the other hand, stared uninterestedly at the paperback recyclables on the wall. "Whatever, Al…and don't say 'ain't'. It's improper."

"Hehe, sorry about that," Alfred said. His expression changed from happy to nervous in a matter of milliseconds. "Actually, I invited you over for more than just tea…."

Arthur looked at Alfred, concern engraved into his stare. "What is it?" Arthur asked. Alfred looked back at the Englishman and saw his forehead wrinkle, his thick brows angled slightly down. He knew Arthur would worry about him, even after Alfred's many claims of "I'm fine" and "Don't worry about me." He knew he couldn't break his heart like this.

"Uh…I made you something!" Alfred exclaimed, pushing his real motive back into the far corners of his mind. He couldn't bring himself to end one of their rare moments of happiness together.

Arthur stared at the American. He knew the boy was hiding something. _Oh, well, it mustn't be that important. _Arthur sat up and sighed. "What is it." He asked again, this time with impatience behind his voice.

"You're gonna love it! I made it especially for you!" Alfred said happily, running into his office to retrieve the gift. He skipped back into the living room with his hands behind his back and a grin stretched across his face.

"What in blazes are you so happy for? It can't be that amazing," Arthur said as Alfred pushed the wrapped gift into his hands. It was heavy and oddly-shaped, wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper, even though it was May.

"Oh, but it is amazing! Amazing because I made it!" Alfred said triumphantly. Arthur stared at the American with disbelief. Alfred stood his ground and kept and smiling that ridiculous smile. "Oh, bloody hell." He gradually tore away the wrapping paper to reveal a…thing.

"What is it? It's ugly," Arthur said, staring disdainfully at the thing.

"It's you, dork!" After careful examination, Arthur could tell that this line was his mouth, and these blobs were his eyebrows, and this lump on the side was his arm.

"Oh, er, thanks...for this…thing." Just then, the kettle whistled from the kitchen.

"I'll be back in a sec, 'kay?" Alfred rushed into the kitchen, his shoes tapping on the polished wood floor.

Arthur stared at himself, looking over the blond hair, the green uniform, the polished boots. It was so childlike and hideous, but he could tell Alfred had put a lot of effort into it. It was much better compared to the things he had attempted to make when he was a child. The expression of the figurine was happy, contradictory to the actual Arthur. He noticed writing on the strap of his uniform but he couldn't quite make out the words. A-l-f-r-e-d-'-s b-e-s…?

"I got the tea ready!" Alfred shouted, breaking Arthur's concentration. He'd have to read that thing later. A small teapot was filled with Earl Grey tea, brewed properly, just as Arthur had taught Alfred.

As steam rose out of Arthur's teacup, another tear rolled down Arthur's cheek. He lay in bed, letting the old memory rise out of his thoughts. He never did finish reading the writing on the figurine.

He sat up on the bed and walk heavily to his dresser, where the object had sat ever since that day, when he came home and placed it there, never caring to look at it again. It looked exactly the same as it did when he received the gift, only a thin layer of dust coating the object. Arthur polished the figurine with his night shirt, letting it shine in the pale moonlight. He squinted at the tiny writing once more, this time determined to read it.

Arthur spent nearly a lifetime staring at it. Finally he gasped as he made sense of the entire reason to why Alfred had made the thing in the first place. Searing hot tears cascaded down the Englishman's face again, just as they did so many times already, as he whispered the words for nobody to hear: Alfred's best friend.


	2. Rain, Rain, Go Away

Arthur would have cursed the terrible weather, had it not been the day of his funeral. The sky was dark and threatening to rain. Alfred loved the rain, but Arthur would always scold the toddler when he would come inside the house, his hair plastered to his head and his coat sopping wet. Now Arthur felt like the sky, only this time, there was no child skipping freely in the warn downpour.

He stood staring at the perfectly manicured lawn surrounding the mandatory hole in which the casket would be laid. If only the dew reflected the melancholy in his eyes, then the grass would become sickeningly gray, only miniscule flecks of green just to prove that it had once been grass.

The quiet murmurs from acquaintances and the deep moan of thunder in the distance were the only sounds that Arthur could ignore; the pounding of his heart wasn't so easy to shrug off.

Suddenly, an innocent touch caused Arthur to violently quake back to consciousness. Arthur halfheartedly looked up, only spying the blond stubble on Francis's chin.

Francis hesitated, opening and closing his mouth as he tried to pick the right words to say. "…Ah-…Do you-…." He bit his bottom lip, hoping somehow it would help him speak. "…Are you ready?" he said slowly. The Englishman turned to face Francis, trembling emerald reflected in the crystal blue.

The words came out as a soft cry for help. "No."

At that, the trembling became broken, and two streams of tears fell down his pallid cheeks. Arthur feebly groped at the front of Francis's dark blue suit, desperately trying to get a hold on him, on life, on…Alfred.

Francis looked down at the fragile man. The small tap that he had placed on Arthur's shoulder had turned into an unyielding embrace. "I've got you." Francis whispered, and a quiet tear rolled down his face. "I've got you…"

The rain fell.


End file.
